


Revenge

by meaninglessblah



Series: The Janus Diaries [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Bondage, Candles, Cock & Ball Torture, Explicit Sexual Content, Gags, Glove Kink, M/M, Object Insertion, Painplay, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sadism, Smoking, Temperature Play, Torture, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:41:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29604729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meaninglessblah/pseuds/meaninglessblah
Summary: Roman teaches Jason an important lesson about revenge when he retaliates on Dick's behalf.
Relationships: Roman Sionis/Jason Todd
Series: The Janus Diaries [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175030
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31
Collections: Romin Week 2021





	Revenge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Morimaitar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morimaitar/gifts).



> For [Roman/Robin Week 2021](https://romanrobinweek.tumblr.com/) Day 2: Corporate/Office Setting | ~~Drugged | Blackmail~~
> 
> An enormous thank you to the event mods for creating, organising and running a fantastic event ❤

Roman rolls the paper of his cigarette between his lips, lifting the already burning candle to light the tip. The embers flare a bright, enticing orange as Roman drags down a long breath, chewing the paper as it begins to smoke. 

He lowers the candle back down to the end table, setting it with the others on the silver tray to take the cigarette between middle and forefinger. 

Jason glares at him over the bars of the bridle, nostrils flaring with every breath, and eyes alight with malice. Roman grins and slides the cigarette between the man’s lips, ignoring the jerk of his head away from the intrusion. 

“Don’t be like that, Red,” he chastises, reaching to the bar that intersects the man’s crown to steady him. “Enjoy a little relief while you can.” 

Roman sees the concession when the man’s lips close on the cigarette, lest it fall and burn some of that pretty, bare skin of his. The expanse of his chest is by no means a virginal canvas, but Roman’s mind is already turning with possible additions. 

Jason’s lashes flutter closed when he draws in his first slow breath. He can appreciate a man who knows when he’s beat, even if the tension in all of Hood’s bound limbs shows everything but surrender. Roman doesn’t mind; they have time. 

Roman slides his gloved hands into his pockets and admires the sight of the thin plume parting from the man’s nostrils, his eyes still as fiery bright when they reopen. 

“Now, Red,” Roman declares, rocking back on his heels. “We’ve got to have a chat, you and I, about revenge. And why it doesn’t pay.” 

That glare could scorch steel, Roman’s sure. It tugs the corners of his mouth up the longer that Jason stares him down, all the more helpless in his fury. 

So Roman takes a stroll around the armchair, pausing to wrap a gloved palm over the sole of the man’s bare foot when he reaches the corner of it. The muscles in Jason’s calf twitch, pulling on the unyielding rope that strings down to the leg of the chair. For all his repulsion at Roman’s touch, the man doesn’t succeed in shifting more than an inch where he’s bound, legs splayed and parallel to his red-tipped ears. 

Roman releases the limb and continues his circle, stopping behind the chair where Jason has to strain to keep him in sight, the leash at the nape of his neck fettering him. The crimelord squeezes down on the man’s shoulder with a smile, ignoring the jolt of Jason’s wrists in their cuffs, hitched to the tight black holsters Roman had painstakingly reapplied to his thighs. The black leather is stark against his skin and wrists, drawing Roman’s gaze to the warm roll of muscles there. 

A few of the ashes flake from the tip of the cigarette, splashing down to his collarbones. Jason grunts, head shifting, but keeps his lips clamped on that filter. 

“A talk, like father to son,” Roman croons, lips tweaking at the growl that builds in the man’s throat. “It’s important that you have a strong paternal role model to teach you these things. And I’ll graciously shoulder the burden.” 

The spew of smoke from his nostrils is more reminiscent of a beast this time, and Roman gets a small thrill from the sight of the big bad Red Hood, bound and splayed before his wandering eyes. And not just eyes, but his velvet touch as he slides his palms over the man’s pectorals, over the strain of his biceps and back up to his shoulders to squeeze, hard. 

“Let’s not dawdle then, shall we?” 

With that, he steps briskly around the armchair, ignoring the way Jason shifts on the leather, skin squeaking softly as Roman transverses the hardwood. 

“Thought you’d like the new hood, Hood,” Roman teases, dropping a hand to tug on the padlock clamped tight beneath the sensitive skin of the man’s chin, holding the bridle in place. He looks incensed with rage, flecks of panicked vulnerability spotting the vigilante’s usually stoic facade. “Got it in your favourite colour and everything.” 

His composure is gradually cracking, Roman can tell. In slivers and flakes, but Roman can file away at his resolve all night. And all the nights to follow, if need be. 

Something tells him he won’t need nearly that much time. 

Grinning, Roman unbuckles his cufflinks, tossing them aside with the candles as he goes. Jason flinches when they clatter across the ornate silver tray, breath huffing through his teeth, making the cigarette flare bright. His blue-green eyes flicker between it and Roman’s movements when he shrugs free of his suit jacket, nimble, gloved fingers picking apart the buttons of his sleeves to roll them back. 

“Bet old man Bats wishes he’d found a way to shut you up sooner. Who knew all it took was giving you something long and hard to suck on for a while.” Those fists flex in dissent, the links of his cuffs catching before they slump again, contained. It makes the leer on Roman’s lips stretch wider, baring teeth in his lipless grin. 

The suit jacket is tossed aside, the sleeves pulled back to expose the fine, pale scars that line Roman’s forearms. Sectioning off the flesh between glove and elbow. Jason’s gaze follows them when he lifts hands to tug free his burgundy necktie, popping the first few buttons beneath the collar for ease. 

“Something tells me,” Roman continues, perfectly happy to fill the heavy silence. He leans forward to snag the cigarette between Jason’s fettered lips, smirking when the man goes nearly cross-eyed in his fear. They don’t return back to Roman’s face until he’s snubbed the cigarette on the tray, and by then they’ve settled back into their usual animosity. “That you and Bats have some history. Of the daddy issues variety. Am I right?” 

The captive vigilante doesn’t grace that with an answer, not that he could. Roman gives him a low chuckle and winds the tie around his palm before tossing it somewhere behind Jason’s head. Then he rocks back on his heels to admire his untouched canvas one last time before setting to work. 

“I’m all for indulging our histories,” Roman waxes, wandering over to the nearby tray to inspect the array of devices. The one that finds its way into his palm is polished silver, short and bulbous, with a crank forming its stem. “My great great grandpappy came here by boat, sailed right over the Atlantic to this great country of opportunity. Brought with him all his customs. Including all those lovely Dutch inventions. I acquired a few of my own, over time.” 

Jason frowns when Roman turns around, a crease marring his forehead as those dark brows draw together, meeting where the centrepiece of the bridle arches back over his crown. His hands clench reflexively, rattling the cuffs; but his confusion curbs whatever panic Roman expected to see from him. 

Not that he minds. He’ll have a front row seat to watch the horror bloom over the man’s features. 

Roman kicks the stool closer, ignoring the vigilante’s grunt when it rebounds off the base of the sofa between his spread legs. He reaches for the dispenser on the tray as he takes his seat, rolling the device languidly beneath the drip of lube as Jason watches on warily. 

“This,” Roman offers, smearing a gloved thumb over the polished, silver surface, “is a choke pear, Red.” 

From the lack of reaction, Roman assumes he’s unfamiliar with the torture device, so he lifts it to the light, holding it out between them so a few drops of lube can splatter onto the man’s groin. 

“It’s a handy little medieval invention,” he continues, rubbing the excessive lube gratuitously between the fingers of his free hand before he lowers them to toy with the man’s exposed rim. Jason grunts and flexes when his fingertip slips in, that glare heating over the muzzle. Roman ignores him. “Very useful for filling prisoners up. Kept them nice and occupied.” 

Jason winces when Roman forces that finger deeper, barely letting the man contract around the intrusion before he’s pulling out and sliding back in again, his passage eased by the smear of lube. He watches Jason’s thigh muscles twitch, his ankles still lashed open and his hole exposed for Roman’s purview. It’s a delightful sight, all that strength caged with a few strategic ropes. 

“So I got one of my own,” Roman adds, lowering the device between Jason’s legs as he adds a second finger and scissors the man’s hole wide. Jason groans at the brutality of it, cuffs protesting as he vents his frustration through his fists. Roman watches him struggle for a moment, cut short by the links before Jason’s fingertips wrap around his own thighs and bite hard. 

Roman smiles. Adjusts his seat to give him a better view when he withdraws his fingers and presses the bulb to the vigilante’s twitching rim. 

“Why don’t you hold yourself open for me, Red?” Roman croons, and laughs with a full chest at the brazen hatred in the eyes that flash up at him. He hooks his wet finger in to the first knuckle, easing the man’s hole open as he buries a protest in his throat and tries to squirm. Even with the preparation, the position keeps him tight, keeps that small furl of muscle resistant as Roman pushes inward. 

It takes a moment for those low grunts to rise to louder, more virulent denials. By the time Roman’s halfway to the widest point, Jason is bellowing against the bit, eyes wild and wide as they skitter over Roman’s gloves, Roman’s ropes, Roman’s cuffs. Searching for an out he won’t find. 

Sighing wistfully, Roman twists the device at its broadest diameter, working against the pushback of the man’s body as he yells, lips curled back off his gums. There’s a desperate fear in Jason’s eyes, a tension to every line of his body that only hinders Roman’s efforts further. 

“Work with me, Red,” Roman chastises, pulling down as he presses in, rotating the pear until, suddenly, it eases in with a soft pop. Jason wails at it’s crowning, wetting the corners of his lashes as he claws fruitlessly at the air, tears bubbling on his cheeks as his cuffs sing. 

And then it’s in, all but the stem. It gleams softly in the candlelight, amber flickering over it’s polished surface as Roman withdraws his fingers to sit back and admire his progress. 

Roman whistles low. “Tight fit.” 

Jason is giving him deep, chest-filling whines around the bit-piece of his bridle. His teeth are bared around the pain, jaw clenched tight as his lips curl back. Breathing seems to be an ordeal, his thighs shaking where they’re flexed around the intrusion. 

His eyes don’t open until Roman’s gloved fingers fall to the crank, and then those pretty little whines are rising to shrieked denial. 

Roman bares teeth and turns it the first few notches. “Let’s see if we can improve that, shall we?” 

All that air rushes from the man’s lungs in a long wail, vibrating on the air between them as he sweats and shakes, ankles jolting and hands trembling where they’re pinned. Roman taps the base of it, admiring the man’s bodily flinch as he inspects the segmented bulb where it’s begun to spread, sucked ever deeper into the vigilante’s greedy hole. 

He wraps fingers over it, sliding it out by the width of the crank as Jason bares teeth and cries, sobs hitching visibly in his throat until Roman presses it back in and jams it against his prostate. 

“Looks like you’ve still got some room in there, though, Red,” Roman comments, and barks a virulent laugh at the desperate shake of the man’s head. The padlock clatters against the branks with every ardent swing. “Oh, I think so, Red, look-” 

Turning the choke pear slowly, inexorably, inside the man produces a scream that yanks Roman’s stomach up against his navel. He stops a few degrees short of ninety to let Jason catch his breath, though it seems to do little to curb the thin whimpers falling from the man’s clenched teeth. 

“Plenty more notches to go, baby,” Roman reminds him over those ragged, audible breaths. “Maybe we’ll get to try them out later, what do you say?” 

Jason gives him a low, pleading whine, the sound scraped through scoured vocal chords. There’s a drop of perspiration making its way down the man’s strained jawline, pooling on the brank as Jason shudders and sweats. 

Roman takes pity, relinquishing the choke pear regretfully. “You sit tight on that, Red. We’ll come back to it later if we need to.” 

Then he straightens, stretching his back leisurely as he approaches the side table and its candles under Jason’s watchful eye. 

Roman tugs his glove off to run bare fingers over the naked flame. “That’s warm enough for us, I think.” 

Then he picks it up off the tray. 

Jason works it out moments before Roman tilts the candle, the wax arcing - not towards his heaving chest - but towards the sensitive member lying heavy across his belly. When the first splash of rich black wax splatters at the base of Jason’s cockhead, the man screams. The bridle sings in tandem, all of him jerking fruitlessly beneath the slow drip of Roman’s steady hand. Mind and body straining for purchase as his muscles flex uselessly. 

He eventually gives up on his scrabbling, settling for wrapping his fingers around the leather cushions and clinging tight. Toes curling and thighs trembling as he heaves large, strained sobs through his bare chest. 

Roman paints a stripe down the length of his bright, angry red cock before he curbs the candle, sitting back to admire the flush against the cooling black wax. 

The wax smears beautifully beneath Roman’s thumb, solidifying slowly in the cool air, until it’s smooth beneath his digits. Jason is slumped in the chair, muscles twitching ineffectually in their binds. His eyes are closed, lashes wet with tears that trail salt down his cheekbones. Roman reaches up to stroke one with his nail, chuckling at Jason’s harsh flinch, before he curls his tongue around the taste. 

“How’re you doing there, Red?” Roman asks, and Jason’s jaw works around the bridle, a ragged whimper slipping from his caged lips as Roman swills the candle. “Ready for the next round?” 

_ That _ snaps his eyes open, brows pinching with trepidation and an unspeakable plea. Roman still scoffs at the muffled sounds that make it past Jason’s stoppered tongue, the way he strains for Roman’s attention as he eyes the man’s bared thighs and aligns the candle appropriately. 

Those pleas rise to harsh screams, hitching with sobs as he thrashes beneath the steady drip of Roman’s candle. 

“I know you’re angry,” Roman placates, watching the droplets pool on Jason’s thighs, drizzle towards his perineum as he sobs, “about what happened with the big blue bird. But I already told you, Red, that was nothing personal. Just sorting out a misunderstanding between me and his bunkmate.” 

“And I know,” Roman continues, over the wailing, “that you came running in here like a white knight to salvage your big brother’s honour. So unlike you; the big bad Hood. But  _ really,  _ big bird had it coming. He chose to spread his legs for my contractor, and he had to accept the consequences of those actions. No hard feelings, right?” 

Roman can see the pink of Jason’s gums when he screams this time, the sound drawing another raspy laugh from his lips as he empties the last of the wax in a haphazard splash, enjoying the sight of the splatter when it hits the man’s thighs and cock. 

The wick is still burning, so Roman tilts the candle, lowering his hand to grace the man’s black-speckled balls with the flame. Jason shrieks, all of him tensing in an effort to pull away from the heat as Roman descends down his taint, rotating in slow circles that make Jason’s pupils dilate and sweat pour from his hairline. 

“You’ve got such a lovely voice, Red,” he praises, though he doubts the man can hear him over his choked sobs. He lowers the flame an inch more to lick over that puckered, clenching hole, enjoying how Jason arches and thrashes tightly in his bonds before he bends to blow it out. 

Jason visibly slumps with the reprieve, though Roman has the pleasure of watching shivers dance over the man’s sweat-streaked skin. That tight hole flexes as he divests himself leisurely of his belt buckle, sliding down his zipper as the vigilante tries in vain to compose himself. 

“Now that we’ve got you all warmed up,” Roman croons, sliding a palm into his pants to relieve his aching cock. It swells in his grip, and Roman sighs when he pulls it free of the material, strokes it once to bask in the friction as Jason’s weary gaze rises to it. “We can  _ really _ get started on you repaying me for that little revenge stunt.” 

There’s a muffled moan, a shift of the man’s limbs as he shakes his head. Roman can see he’s tiring, the session’s fatigue settling in his muscles, and it just makes his plea all the more pathetic. 

It’s a short-lived protest, dying quietly on the man’s lips when Roman reaches down to grasp the choke pear’s crank. Those dark brows knit, features scrunching in a grimace when Roman winds it down enough to pull loose, the device sliding free with a wet  _ pop!  _

Roman holds it up to the light, admiring the glint of the polished silver, warm in his palm, before he tosses it aside on the tray. The heat is a promise of what’s to come, teasing Roman’s pulse as he lines the head of his cock up with that bereft hole. 

Waits there, with his slicked crown nudging the man’s rim, for Jason to finally open his eyes and meet Roman’s smirk. 

“How about you hold yourself open for me, Red?” he murmurs, soft and careful, like a lover’s prayer. He watches resignation settle in the lines of Jason’s stricken face with the words, something dying in the depths of those eyes. “Or do you need some more convincing?” 

The bridle clatters softly when Jason shakes his head, trembling fingers unfurling to grip at the skin of his thighs. Pull his legs open wider for Roman as he groans and presses in. 

A small, wavering keen leaves the man’s gagged lips as Roman sheathes himself, breathing hard at the hot clench of Jason’s tight passage. 

“Good boy,” Roman praises, ignoring the twitch of Jason’s fingers at the words. He keeps his eyes on Jason’s hole, watching the way it swallows his cock deep. His nails gouge deep into that tan skin, drawing pricks of blood as Roman strokes a soothing palm up his calf. 

Jason grunts when he rocks back and in again, the sounds rising the more ferocious Roman gets until he’s crying with every jarring piston of Roman’s hips. 

Roman lowers a palm to wrap around the man’s bobbing cock, chuckling at the weak scream earned when his grip rips some of the dried wax from the sensitive skin. He grinds the residue in mercilessly, letting the man’s shrill cries fade to subdued whimpers. 

They’ve all but subsided to soft moans by the time Roman finishes in him, grinding deep and then pulling out to watch it drip between the man’s open thighs. It takes no effort to slide the choke pear back home, chuckling at the pleading shake of Jason’s head when he turns the crank to fit in snugly in his filled hole. 

“Why don’t you ruminate on this lesson for a bit, Red?” Roman suggests, lifting a palm to tap the man’s cheek, palm knocking the steel branks. 

Those blue-green eyes are rimmed in red, docile when they flick up to meet his. Jason’s lax in his bonds, every muscle finally surrendering the fight as Roman tucks himself away, twitching faintly in the stillness. Roman tugs his discarded gloves back on, dragging a thumb through the thick sweat that lines the vigilante’s flank. 

“I’ll be back for you in the morning,” he promises, and Jason heaves a shuddering breath, head lolling against the leather. The metal of the bridle cuts against his cheek, but he doesn’t seem to notice it. “So have a good think about it, Red. And remember: revenge may not pay, but I certainly do.” 

**Author's Note:**

> [](https://linktr.ee/meaninglessblah)   
>    
> 


End file.
